


Bryan's pup

by alyxpoe



Series: The Homeless Network [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Homeless Network
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 10:46:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2729543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyxpoe/pseuds/alyxpoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These three people have affected more lives than I think they are fully conscious of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bryan's pup

“Peyton, love, where’s Bryan?” Mrs. Hudson asks as she opens the back door of her flat to me. I step into her wonderfully warm kitchen, hugging Nova close to my chest. She must see something in my eyes, because she’s suddenly got her arms around my waist. It’s not like he’d ever come in the house, but he was almost always with me. Almost like some sort of self-proclaimed body guard.

“Oh, child, I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Hudson coos at me, tucking my face against her shoulder. Nova gives a little yelp when we accidentally squeeze her between us so I pull back a little and put the pup on the floor. She doesn’t go far, just next to my feet, whining up at me a bit as if unsure what’s happening.

I feel like the ‘other’ parent, the one who has to tell the child that one of their parents have died…the one who has to try to be both strong and consoling at the same time.

I’m not sure if I’m up to it.

“Mrs. Hudson?” In between my stupid weeping, a man’s warm voice trickles into the kitchen.

“Oh, John, I’m glad you’re here. Bryan…” Mrs. Hudson is saying over my head.

I like Doctor Watson, and I’m glad he’s alone. There aren’t many people I’d let see me in this state. Seriously, I’m already raw and being picked apart further—even if Sherlock doesn’t say that’s what he’s doing, he very damn well _is,_ and right now I just need some space to breathe. I could go back to my little place, but I don’t want to be alone, either.

I hate being stuck in this weird alone-not alone limbo.

It’s been especially hard since Ginny had the baby, because I’ve not had too many people to talk to and I don’t like hanging around at Ginny’s flat today, either. It’s not that I don’t like the baby, I’m just not…well, right now I’m not much good to anybody.

“Yes, we heard the news this morning,” John states, resting a hand on my shoulder. He’s good at this unspoken stuff and always seems to know how to talk to all of us.

I have to give him credit, there’s only the slightest hint of a tremor under his voice. I appreciate that, even though he didn’t know Bryan well. Bryan was one of the few of us who didn’t actively work for the detectives, though he didn’t give any of us any grief about it, either. He said that he’d taken enough orders for the rest of his life, no matter how long that was going to be, he was going to live it as free as he possibly could. Which, really, what kind of twenty-three year old reasoning do I have to put on his fifty-five year old reasons?

Now, here I go, starting the story in the middle. I gently push Mrs. Hudson away and she tries to guide me towards the kitchen table. I can’t bring myself to sit there with Nova in my lap, so I ask if it’s okay if I head towards the sofa. She smiles, says it’s fine. While she and Doctor Watson make a pot of tea and discuss _things_ , I stretch out against the flowery material and toe my trainers off.

“Come here, girl,” I call to the red and white pup. She scrambles across the floor, her fat little belly swinging and her ridiculous tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. Sometimes I feel sorry for her, I mean, come on, who crosses a bulldog with a lab in the first place? I don’t think that story’s quite true, though, ‘cause there’s got to be some other weird terrier-thing in there, probably a dachshund or some such, she’s got such dainty paws.

Nova regards me carefully with her one brown eye and her one blue eye that’s ringed in color. Her white marking goes straight down the middle of her head, dividing the orange-ish color in half and ending at the tip of her only-slightly-squashed-in face. At least she’s not a snorer.

I scratch at her silly ears and she plops down on my chest after breathing her hot-dog smelly puppy breath into my face.

The day I met Bryan, he called me a Chav and almost decked me. I got right up into his face, on tiptoe, mind you, and told him what I thought of him. I asked him how a black, homeless ex-soldier had the bullocks to even talk to someone else like that. He grinned at me, showing off that one gold tooth in the front, tugged at the thin gold chain around my neck with one thick finger and started laughing. The arse laughed so hard he finally ended up bent double, his hands on knees. Idiot sounded like a bloody loon. I looked around to see if we were about to be hauled in, but you know, naturally, no one saw or heard anything, but that’s how it is when you are one of us.

I’ve got to say, though, after that, we were pretty much inseparable. It wasn’t sexual, never that, but we were pretty good friends for homeless people, I think. Up until I started working for Sherlock Holmes.

It was like this new freedom—even more than being free of everything, I suddenly had some cash in my pocket and a new respect for myself. I have my own place now. It’s small, but it’s mine and the most I’ve ever owned in my life. My biggest problem at the moment, though, is Nova. I can’t keep a pet there, so I’m here to see if anyone has any ideas. Or at least that’s the excuse I made up. Even I have to admit to needing a bit of comfort once in a while, I think I’ve earned a bit of it.

I open my eyes without realizing that I’ve actually closed them at the sound of Mrs. Hudson and John’s voices drifting closer. Mrs. Hudson sits down on the end of her sofa, John takes the chair across from me. Nova gives my chin a tongue bath then turns her attention towards the doctor. She barks lightly and he leans forward in order to scratch behind her ears.

“She likes you,” I mumble, sitting up. Nova wiggles down off my lap and makes a beeline for John. He smiles and picks her up. She squirms and wriggles and tries hard to lick the skin right off his face. I’m smiling for the first time in a while and I have to admit that’s one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.

“I wish I could have convinced Bryan,” I say and the next thing that spills out of my mouth is a sob. An arm comes around my shoulders and I know Mrs. Hudson is there; it’s just now that I’m warm and surrounded by these good people that do so much for others, this regret is the only one I have.

“Peyton,” John says softly, stroking Nova’s head where’s she stretched out over his lap, “people make their own choices.”

“I know,” I sniff as Mrs. Hudson squishes a tissue into my hand. I wipe my nose. “It hurts me,” I tell them, fighting against the grief again, “it hurts so much that he died that way. He had so much to…”

“What is _that_?” a deep voice cuts me off. I turn my head and take in a bed-headed detective whose got a weird expression—a cross between absolute delight and total horror—plastered on his face. His sharp green eyes are fixed on Nova who makes a little whimpering sound and kicks her foot when John rubs her fat little belly.

“I do believe it is a dog, my dear,” John quips sardonically, a mischievous grin twisting his lips.

Sudden recognition registers on Sherlock’s face. He steps over towards me and reaches out. He’s not a hugger, not really, but the big hand on my shoulder is exactly the same. Perhaps I was wrong to not want him here earlier. Besides, I don’t think Mrs. Hudson’s going to let me go for about another thirty hours or so. It’s unbelievable what a grip this fragile-looking lady’s got on me even if he was the hugging sort.

Sherlock settles in the floor in front of John’s chair, between the doctor’s knees; he seems content to just _be_. John hands Nova down to him and she goes through her entire greeting routine again. I’ve got the distinct impression I’ve just found her a new home, but it’s probably best to make Sherlock think it was his decision. John cocks an eyebrow in my direction. All I can do is shrug and wish that I could feel the smile I’ve plastered on my face. It feels too fake, so I let it drop.

We’re all quiet for a few moments, but I know they’re going to ask me more; even if they already know, they’re going to ask. I take a deep breath and lean against the warmth of Mrs. Hudson.

“They found him this morning. Over the vent in front of the Chemist’s—he had on both of his coats and gloves, boots, too, John, the ones like your old ones…he was in a chair. I don’t know where that came from. Curled up around Nova…” I choke against another sob, but this has to come out. What is wrong with me that I can’t even talk?

Mrs. Hudson shushes me a bit, but I shake my head. This is tough, but not the worst thing. “Bryan’s back was bowed where he’d curled up around her all night. It just…it wasn’t enough.”

Why does this hurt so much?

I want to scream and rail against a universe who decides who has what and how much and the fact that some people refuse to take a helping hand even when they need it most. I can’t say if it was _pride_ so much as….actually, I don’t even know.

John regards me with empathy washing over his features; Sherlock watches me coolly, the only tell of sympathy his pursed lips; Mrs. Hudson, well, I can’t see her, but the iron grip around me has grown tighter.

“I’m sorry,” I tell them, making to stand up. Nova, the little traitor, doesn’t even flinch. She looks so tiny there in Sherlock’s hands. Sometimes I forget she’s only about eight weeks old. Us strays all seem to age a bit quicker than everyone else. “Look, I’ll see myself out, okay? I need…I just need some air.”

I can’t move, though. And it’s not that I’m being held back, quite the opposite, really. Mrs. Hudson has loosened her embrace some and there’s no one blocking my way forward. It’s just me and I know it.

“It’s my fault. I should have kept trying to convince him. He just wouldn’t listen. Said he’d taken enough orders in his life and he wasn’t going to take any more.” I laugh, knowing I’m probably toeing the line of _hysterical_ , but there’s no stopping this train now. “I couldn’t get him to see that he could do as much or not as he wished. He didn’t believe me, though, said it was good for me that I was pulling myself up out of the gutter—his words, not mine—but I wanted to share with him. He never even stepped one foot into my flat…”

“Peyton, you are a good person, honey. John’s right, you know, Bryan made his own decisions. You’ve got to respect him for that.”

“No, he could have been…”

“Peyton,” Sherlock interjects. He doesn’t look at me, just down at Nova. Part of me is thrilled for her and irritated, as always, when I have to admit he’s right. Dammit. I don’t want to wallow in my own grief, but truly I’m the only one who knew him. Maybe that was his choice, maybe it was mine. No, it couldn’t have been mine. He followed me about, he knew where I went. It was his choice not to come in and see what these people are about.

These two—actually, no, once I really think about it—these three. These three people have affected more lives than I think they are fully conscious of. Perhaps John understands it, but I don’t think Mrs. Hudson or Sherlock do. Billy and Ginny talk about them like they’re Batman and Robin…even Jacob likes them. He talks about Sherlock’s older brother, too, but I’ve never met him, so I don’t have an opinion about that.

It’s so silly, I guess, to continue to be this upset. I’ve managed to find him every day over the past week, every single day I’ve pleaded with him to just come into my house and get warm. It’s such a wonderful feeling to be able to offer that comfort to someone else…but he wouldn’t accept. Maybe it was me. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing. You did nothing wrong.” Mrs. Hudson informs me.

“If anything, you gave him a bit of joy, I think.” John adds.

I nod, but I still don’t really feel it. “Thank you,” I mumble as Nova sits up and blinks her ridiculous eyes at me.

“She’s so sweet, isn’t she?” Mrs. Hudson asks, tilting her head at the pup.

“She is,” I sniff. I want to tell her that she was part of the reason I tried so hard to get Bryan some help, but I’m done talking about it for a bit. I hope. “I need to take her out though.”

“It’s all fine,” Sherlock says, unfolding himself and standing, completely ignoring the light-colored dog hairs that decorate the lap of his black trousers. He leans towards John, places a quick kiss that says so much so very loudly with hardly a sound on the other man’s forehead and saunters towards the door with Bryan’s pup in his hands.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this one for over a week. I'd originally intended it to be told a different way. As you all well know, though, the Muse sometimes does what he damn well wants.


End file.
